Yesterday is a Promise
by Nynaeve1723
Summary: Set six months after JPF, a rough case has its effect on Woody and Jordan. FINISHED
1. Out in the Cold

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part One: Out in the Cold**

In the end it was simple. Not easy. Not with Jordan. Not with him. It probably never would be. But there was an elegant simplicity to it all.

December had snuck up on Boston after a gentle fall and almost balmy November. Woody had returned to work, desk duty first of course and, eventually, back into the field. Though he couldn't make himself ask if Jordan was avoiding him, he'd been struck by the fact that the responding M.E. on his first three homicides hadn't been her. Eventually though she'd appeared. Woody had seen her get out of the car, watched her scan the scene with a gaze that would have appeared casual to those who didn't know her. He'd caught the slight hesitation when her sightline had taken him in. Had he been closer he'd have noticed the momentary twitch at the corners of her mouth and he'd have heard the soft, but deep breath she'd forced into her lungs. He'd broken off his own examination of the scene and made his way toward her.

Her mouth had turned down briefly at the slight limp that slowed him down (though time would take care of that) and then the walls had gone up, solid, impassive, impenetrable. She'd kept here eyes carefully hidden behind dark sunglasses appropriate to the brilliance of that late summer day. The only emotion Woody had found on her face was a generic mixture one that revealed nothing of what went on beneath her skin. She'd been professional, thorough, competent. Jordan.

Almost.

Any curiosity, any theories she'd had, she'd kept to herself on that case and most of the subsequent ones on which they had to collaborate. Woody wondered, looking at today's body, if she would be able to do that with this one. As much as he missed the Jordan Cavanaugh who had, at times, plagued him, he hoped maybe she could.

"Detective?" Woody looked up at the uniformed officer in front of him. He grunted. "M.E.'s here." The young woman gestured.

Woody watched her as he had so many times. She got out of the car, took in the setting in front of her, found him. The day was bleak and grim, December snow threatening to start spitting at them any time. No sunglasses today and Woody found himself studying her. As always, her professional demeanor didn't falter, but the ache in her heart - the ache he'd put there - thudded over him. The pain, doubt and anger had tapestried themselves into her soul, and at the moment she had finally learned to unweave those ugly, garish threads, he had reminded her to tighten them instead. She drew closer and the mask went down. Her gaze was nothing more than appraising and if she sensed any of what he'd been thinking, she ignored it.

"What do we have?"

Woody took a breath. "A baby."

Jordan's eyebrows went up. "In there?" She gestured to the dumpster.

Woody could only nod.

"Damn," Jordan breathed. She inhaled and swallowed past the lump in her throat. "All right. Show me."

XXXXX

Jordan had nearly finished her preliminary, on-site routine when the anguished screams of a woman caught the attention of everyone in the area. Struggling, slapping, almost biting, a young woman dragged one of the uniformed officers with her toward where the baby lay. Jordan hastily covered the tiny cold corpse.

"OhmyGod! OhmyGod! OhmyGod! Noooooooo!" The young woman kept howling. "Is it Evvy? Is it? OhmyGod! I only went to do the laundry!"

Woody and Jordan exchanged glances. His eyes pled with her in spite of the fact he knew he should approach the woman first. Her raw agony and fierce anger cowed him, spoke to him of some gender bond he could never fathom, never hope to have. An excuse, maybe, but Jordan's expression let him off the hook. Her face soft, but neutral, she approached the woman, a hand outstretched.

When Jordan's fingertips brushed the woman's shoulder, the woman slapped at the tentative touch. Woody re-evaluated the woman. A girl, really. Maybe twenty, unless she looked a lot younger than she was. A lot.

Jordan tried again, drawing closer to the girl, keeping her gentle hand on the other's shoulder this time. Murmuring soft, meaningless words until the girl finally stopped screaming. The officer holding her relaxed his grip. She sagged slightly and Jordan was there to hold her up.

Now the girl began to babble.

Through the hysterics, Jordan's calm voice cut a delicate path. "Tell me your name. I'm Jordan. What's your name? We need to know your name. We can start to help you when-"

"Karen. Karen Devaney," the girl spit out. "Is that Evvy?" She pointed, her finger shaking, toward the pitifully small mound so tactfully covered by the M.E.

"We don't know," Jordan told her. "We need you to help us and we can help you."

Slowly, the girl's breathing slowed. Her face had taken on a waxy pallor, but some color returned to her cheeks as she let Jordan's voice soothe her. Wordlessly, Jordan motioned to Woody. She introduced the detective to Karen, standing by as the mechanics of investigation and law enforcement began to grind away.

Her eyes kept cutting to the covered body - so cold, so tiny, Jordan kept thinking - but she was able to tell Woody her story. It wasn't terribly unique. She was nineteen, got pregnant before she finished high school. She and the guy - Mike O'Neal - stayed together, for Evvy's sake more than anything. When they didn't get married parents on both sides cut them loose. Since then they'd lived in a succession of cheaper and cheaper apartments, barely making ends meet, getting public assistance - just for the baby, you understand, the girl insisted with pride. Mike started drinking a few months ago. He lost the job he'd had. She'd been trying to work to get some extra cash. A neighbor watched Evvy for her. Mike wouldn't. It wasn't his job, he said. A bitter snort. Not much was Mike's job these days. Last night, after working all day, Karen had come home to piles of laundry Mike hadn't taken to the laundromat that day. After Evvy had gone to sleep, Karen had drug herself down to the laundromat - the one three blocks over. She must have fallen asleep there. When she got home, Mike was gone and so was Evvy. Karen thought she was at the neighbor's. The manager came up as she was putting away clothes. They were being evicted - the baby had disturbed too many people the night before. Crying, Karen had gone down to get the little girl. The neighbor didn't have her. But, oh yes, Evvy had raised a fuss in the night. And then she'd just stopped. After that the door had slammed and the neighbor had heard Mike go down the stairs. No, he hadn't been back.

And at that moment one of the officers had knocked on the neighbor's door, canvassing for witnesses to a baby that had been left in the dumpster.

Jordan bit back the tears. Woody sighed heavily as he closed his notebook.

Karen looked at Jordan. The M.E. felt her heart twist at the girl's tear-washed face. "Is it Evvy?"

"I - um...," Jordan hesitated, hating her job at the moment. "I don't know. We - um - we - that is the baby..."

"We need a positive id on the baby that was found," Woody explained. Jordan shot him a grateful look.

Karen swallowed. "Do I have to - to look at the baby?"

Another exchange of glances between Jordan and Woody. Jordan struggled for words. "Um - maybe you could tell me how old Evvy was. What she was wearing when you - um - when you put her to bed."

"She is- is- is - um - elev- eleven months." The girl's eyes filled with more tears. "Her birthday is in three weeks. She can almost walk. That's pretty good, isn't it?" She looked desperately at Jordan and Woody.

"That's great," Jordan assured her. "Um - and what was she wearing?"

"Oh. Um - yeah. Um - I put her in her little pink footie suit. You know the kind? She loves that one. I know it's probably stupid, but I think pink is her favorite color."

Woody spoke gently. "It's not stupid." His eyes sought out Jordan's. In a motion only he could catch, she nodded. He knew about the pink footie suit of course. Based on Jordan's examination, the baby girl was between ten months and a year. Woody's shoulder's sagged.

Karen sniffed. "It's Evvy, isn't it?"

Taking the girl in her arms, Jordan told her that most likely the baby was indeed Evvy. Karen sobbed, clutching at Jordan. The girl spoke convulsively. "It was hard. Really hard. But - but I love her. Loved her" A freshet of tears as the realization snuck up on her again. "I did. I do. I - She - She always smiles. And laughs. And - and - and..." Jordan stroked the child's back, for this girl was little more than a child herself, caught in a vise that now threatened to crush the life from her. Her sobs slowly, Karen looked up. "Why didn't he just leave her? Bring her to me? Or to Mrs. Shirley? I - I wouldn't have been mad- well, I'd have been mad, but it would have been okay. Why did he do this?"

Woody looked at Jordan.

Jordan looked at Karen. "Karen, we don't know what happened yet. I - I'll have to do an autopsy to find out. In the meantime, I think Detective Hoyt will - uh - look after you."

After some reassurances, Woody was able to hand Karen to the young female cop who had been first on the scene. He followed Jordan as she walked toward the dumpster once more. "Can you rush this one, Jordan?"

She nodded. "I think it's pretty clear this is Evvy, but I'd like to do a DNA match just in case."

"I'll get some hair or something when I take Karen to her apartment." Woody scuffed his shoe against the pavement. "Any idea what happened?"

"Woody, I won't know until I - oh God - until I start - start the procedure. It's hard to tell with babies."

"I'll put an APB out on the boyfriend, check Karen's alibi. You find out how this baby died. I'm going to nail the boyfriend to the wall."

Jordan thought about cautioning him not to jump to conclusions, but she had already made that leap herself. "I'll bring the nail gun," she told him grimly.

END Part One

TBC...


	2. Pink Footie Suits

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.  
It's all for fun.

AN: Thanks for the feedback for the first chapter of this. I'd love to hear more opinions!

**Part Two: Pink Footie Suits**

For the umpteenth time Jordan blinked away tears. God, she hated cases that involved kids. Kids of any age, but babies had to be the absolute worst. She glanced over at Nigel, who was peering at the baby's mouth. He'd been as silent and remote as she herself was. No one could remain unaffected by that tiny form. Jordan thought Nigel's murmured declaration, infused with anger and indignation, would sound in her ears for a long time. "The poor little thing is so cold."

"Jordan?"

Sniffing, Jordan came out of her reverie. "Got something, Nige?"

"Something on the baby's mouth, I think."

Jordan leaned over and followed Nigel's gaze. She narrowed her eyes. Craning her neck to look up at Nigel, she said, "Tape?"

He nodded. "I think so."

Jordan felt her gorge rise and she steeled herself to deal with it. "So where'd the tape go?"

Nigel's look was dark. "I'd say someone wanted us to think this was natural."

"SIDS?"

The Brit shrugged. "Hard to prove it is and hard to prove it isn't."

Jordan shook her head. "Then why put her in the dumpster?"

"Maybe something went wrong."

"Track down Woody, Nige. Tell him to look for that tape."

XXXXX

Jordan was still in her scrubs, but she sat at her desk, chewing the end of a pen, trying to work on the report Woody would need. Every time she tried to make notes though all she could see was that tiny body in its pink footie suit. Was that worst of it? Would some small part of the horror have been lessened if the baby had been dressed with less care? Or just wrapped in an old blanket? Or even naked? Was it the sight of the innocent pink, the feel of the delicate plush, the lingering scent of the material used to give the footies their traction? Sure, this little girl - Evvy - seemed to have a lot of cards stacked against her, but damn it, that pink footie suit... it spoke volumes. It said "Hope."

Jordan heard the crack of the end of the pen between her teeth. She jumped as if shot.

"Come on, Cavanaugh. Pull yourself together," she muttered.

Another fruitless five minutes passed. When Jordan heard the knock on her door, she breathed a guilty sigh of relief. "Yeah."

The door opened and Woody appeared. "Uh, Jordan. Hi." His blue eyes clouded over. He wished for something else to say, but was there anything to say right now?

"Woody." Her face showed the strain of the day. "I - um - I'm working on the report for you. Sorry it's not done. It's been-"

"That's okay. Karen - Karen's here. I thought - I thought Lily maybe... you know." He shrugged.

"Her alibi checked out?"

Woody nodded. "The night manager at the landromat knew her. She said Karen came in last night and somewhere between the spin cycle and rinse, fell asleep. The lady who runs the place knows the kid's been under a lot of strain. She covered Karen up with a blanket and even moved her laundry for her. She thought she was doing the girl a favor."

"She was." Jordan's head drooped. "No one could have known."

"D'you get anything off the tape I sent over?"

Another nod from the M.E. Jordan began to speak, but another knock stopped her. Lily didn't wait for Jordan's terse acknowledgement. She simply poked her head in the door. "Jordan, Woody, sorry to interrupt, but Karen is asking if she could talk to you. Jordan, I mean. I think she's more comfortable with you, than me. It's understandable."

Jordan's eyes asked Woody for mute permission. He nodded. "I'll talk to Nigel."

"Yeah, good," Jordan agreed.

"I'll get Karen," Lily said. "Would you - um - like some tea or something?"

"Thanks, Lily. That would be - yeah." Woody began to duck out the door. "Woody?"

He turned around.

"Any word on the boyfriend?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

Let me know, okay? Whenever."

"Sure, Jordan. Yeah." His lips thinned as he contemplated Mike O'Neal, a boy he already loathed.

Jordan got up from her desk and scrubbed her hands through her hair. She was staring out the window when Lily brought in the bereft mother. Jordan turned and gave her a look she hoped was compassionate, but felt only infinitely sad. "Would you like to sit down?"

Karen nodded and sank to the couch. Wordlessly, Lily brought in some tea and left it on Jordan's desk.  
Jordan offered Karen some who declined and then changed her mind. Jordan poured two cups and asked if Karen minded sharing the couch.

The girl shook her head. She sipped the tea Jordan handed her. "I hope the other woman - Lily? - I hope she isn't mad. She seems nice and all, but - I don't know. I just - I'd rather talk to you."

Jordan nodded. "Lily understands," she assured her companion. "Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about?"

Karen took several deep breaths. Then she studied the still amber surface of her tea. At last she looked up, tears leaking from her red, swollen eyes. "I need to know about - about how... how it happened."

Jordan's face crumpled briefly. "Oh, Karen. I don't know-"

"I need to know, Dr. Cavanaugh. I need to know if she suffered, if she knew what was happening"  
She wrung her hands. "I'm so afraid."

"Afraid?"

Karen nodded. "Afraid that - you know, at the end - that she was scared, that she thought - thought Mommy -  
thought I didn't - thought..." She sobbed into her hands.

Jordan gathered her into her arms. She stroked the girl's hair. "No, no, Karen. I don't think she thought that.  
Not at all."

Speaking between great, gasping sobs, Karen continued, "I was always so careful with her. There was never much, you know, but - but - I loved her so much. She was - She was happy. I think she was." She shook her head. "I know she was. Do you really think - I mean - she didn't know... what was happening?"

"No, Karen. She didn't - She didn't suffer." Jordan bit her lip. She shouldn't promise the girl that, but in her grief-stricken state she didn't need to know her baby's lungs had likely screamed out for oxygen, that her brain would have registered alarm before going into shutdown, that the small vessels in her eyes and lungs had ruptured. No, the girl didn't need to know that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Anyone who dressed her little girl in a pink footie suit deserved what little comfort could be found - or made up.

Karen's sobs began to subside. She sat up. Jordan got her the box of tissues. "Thank you," the girl murmured. She stood and went to look out the window. When she spoke, Jordan wasn't sure the girl knew she wasn't alone. Her words seemed directed to the window. "I always wanted a bunch of kids. I did. I'm the middle of seven kids. Good Catholics." She snorted. "But I did. I wanted a big family, Dr. Cavanaugh. I wanted a house in the suburbs and a minivan and -oh, it sounds dumb - but I wanted lots of cookie sheets." She turned and gave Jordan a rueful, bitter smile. "I promised myself I'd bake cookies every day."

"That's - Karen-"

"I know, it's dumb."

"No! No, it's not. It's - It's the kind of life any kid would want, I think."

Karen shrugged. "Thanks. I thought, for a while anyway, that maybe it would happen with Mike and me"  
She swallowed. "We used to have so much fun together." Another rueful look and then she turned to the glass again. "I guess that was obvious, huh? But I don't mean just that. We were really good friends.  
We'd known each other since junior high. And then - I don't know - we kind of looked at each other one day and we were in love. Or we thought we were. You ever felt that way, Dr. Cavanaugh."

"Uh-huh," Jordan replied. Softening, she added, "I think everyone has."

Another shrug from Karen. "We'd both - well, my folks might be good Catholics, but I can't say I was. Mike wasn't exactly my first. I wasn't his either. But I never felt like that with the other boys I did it with. It was - just something to do, I guess. Mike was different. He really cared. Or he pretended really well." Regret and bitterness mingled with her grief. "We'd only done it a few times when I got pregnant with Evvy." The girl went silent for a moment. Jordan's heart broke when Karen looked down at her belly and placed a protective hand over it. "God, I was so scared when I knew she was in there. I've never been so scared of anything ever in my life. But at the same time, Dr. Cavanaugh, at the same time, this little part of me was - was so happy. This tiny part of me didn't care if my folks were going to yell or what Mike said, what anyone said really. I was just - happy. I loved her. From the minute I knew, I loved her."

"Of course you did," Jordan said solemnly.

"Oh I know what people say about girls my age having babies. We just want something to love us without strings, we want to play house, all that. Maybe that was part of it, but I don't think so. I loved her because she was mine. And Mike's. I mean, maybe he pretended, but I didn't. I loved him. And I thought no matter how hard it got, we'd still have that. And we'd have our baby."

"Detective Hoyt will find him, Karen."

She nodded. "I know he will. And - And he should. I guess."

"Don't you want justice for your daughter?"

Karen turned to gaze at Jordan. "Will it bring her back? Will it make her laugh and smile and clap her hands again? Will I get to give her baths and read her stories and put her in her pajamas again?"

Jordan looked away, her eyes hot with tears. She shook her head.

"Mike's not a bad person. He isn't. And he'll live with this for the rest of his life. Don't get me wrong, I don't want anything more to do with him and I want him to - to answer for what he did, but nothing's going to change it. Nothing's gonna make Evvy alive."

"No, you're right."

Karen sighed. "Maybe this is wrong, maybe you'll think I'm horrible, but I wanted to ask you something. It's why I couldn't talk to that other woman."

"What is it?"

Karen took a deep breath. "Am I a terrible mother? I love her, Dr. Cavanaugh. I always will. But in the last few hours, I've been thinking. I wasn't a dummy in school. I thought maybe I'd take some classes, try to get a decent job, you know, answering phones or stuff like that. I want to get married - give myself a few years - but get married and have more babies. I won't ever quit missing my Evvy, but I already feel kind of like it was yesterday. And I don't want to forget, I don't want to stop aching for her, but I want to have brothers and sisters for her. I want there to be people who will always know about her. And I want to make the kind of life I used to promise her I would." Karen's voice dropped to a whisper. "Am I a terrible mother?"

Jordan's tears flowed down her face now. "No, Karen. No, you're not." Jordan crossed the room and took the girl in her arms again.

"My mom always said my problem is I love too much. I always used to make friends with the kids everyone else picked on. If I found a hurt animal, I'd bring it home and make it well. Or if it died, I'd cry my eyes out and bury it in the backyard. My mom said it would bring me nothing but pain. Maybe I loved Evvy too much!" Karen raised her head and looked at Jordan. "Do you think it's possible? Do you think someone can love too much?"

The air rushed from Jordan's lungs and for a moment she could only move her mouth like a fish. At last she found her breath again. "No. Not at all." She wiped away her own tears and dried Karen's with a fresh tissue. "I think it's worse not to love enough. To be too afraid to love."

To be to afraid to give away those parts of yourself that died when you held them in too tightly. To be too afraid to jump in and go where life's currents took you. To be too afraid to think about what it might all mean.

To be too afraid to imagine little babies in pink footie suits.

END Part Two

TBC...


	3. For a Smart Man

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.  
It's all for fun.

AN: Thanks for the continued feedback. I really appreciate it.

**Part Three: For a Smart Man**

Jordan's office was dark. Woody leaned his head against the doorframe, sighing in an exhaustion that was physical as it was mental and emotional. The last day that had been this bad? The day he'd been shot. He pursed his lips and turned slowly.

"Woody?"

Hoyt started at the sound of Garret Macy's voice. "Dr. Macy. Hi."

Macy studied the detective for a moment. There were new lines around his eyes and mouth, a new heaviness to his step, an erosion in his ease and charm. "Can I help you?"

Woody shook his head. "I - uh - Jordan wanted to know when we got the boyfriend in that baby case."

Garret's eyebrows went up. "You got him?"

A nod from Hoyt. "I'll - I'll just call her. She said she wanted to know."

For a moment Garret was going to let him go, let him walk down the hall, punch the elevator call button and get in it. He could let Woody drive home, call Jordan, give her the news. He could let things go. Or he could say something. A lot of somethings, really. "Woody? Got a minute?"

Woody turned around. "I - I'm sorry, Doc. I'm-"

"It's important."

Meeting the re-instated Chief M.E.'s gaze, Woody got the message. Tiredly, he nodded. Macy gestured toward his office. "Coffee?"

"That'd be... yeah, great."

While Macy got the coffee, Woody sat down and rested his head against the back of Macy's couch. His eyes closed. He could almost fall asleep. Except she was here. Not **here** here. But the faint scent of her perfume lingered in the room. Images of her danced against his eyelids - sitting talking with her boss, walking down the hall, rushing to catch the elevator. Jordan. Jordan in an autopsy suite. Jordan in trace. Jordan, her dark head bent over something Nigel was showing her. Jordan doing her grisly job with a thoroughness born of passion and compassion. Jordan... Jordan... Jordan... His heart thumped its beat to the syllables of her name.

Woody sighed, scrubbed his hands over his eyes. He was about to get up and leave when Garret returned. Macy assessed the situation. "Going somewhere?"

"Look, Dr. Macy, I'm sorry. Whatever it is, it can wait, can't it? This day has been-"

"Actually, Woody, it can't wait. I think it's waited long enough."

His temper rising slightly, Woody replied, "If this is about Jordan, it really can wai-"

"Of course it's about Jordan! Do you think you're the only one who had a hard day? Do you think you're the only one who's - who's been hurt?"

"Jordan? Jordan Cavanaugh? You'll have to forgive me, Dr. Macy, if I have a little trouble believing that one. I know this case got to her. These sorts of cases get to everyone. But anything else? Un-uh. Not Jordan."

"You know, Woody, for a smart man, you can be an idiot sometimes." Macy thrust a cup of coffee at him. "Sit down." Macy's normally controlled voice held a dangerous edge. Woody sat. "You really think you know her, don't you?"

Angry, defensive, and now slightly doubting his own judgment, Woody retorted, "Yeah. Yeah, I know her pretty well."

"And you tried? Tried to get through her defenses? Gave her time. Gave her space. Pushed her. You tried everything."

"Yeah. I did! I would have given anything for Jordan to-"

"Anything except letting her be there for you. Anything except your pride. Anything except believing in her!"

An unseen hand thumped Woody on the chest. His pulse jumped a notch or two. "That's not fair!"

"Really? Let me tell you what isn't fair," Macy sneered. "Jordan could finally say it, could finally tell you what you meant to her and you pushed her away as hard as you could. Because you knew Jordan. You knew she'd go."

"And I was right." Woody smirked coldly.

"No, you were wrong. Jordan did something I've never known her to do. Everything fell apart and she stayed, Woody. She stayed in Boston. She stayed here, even the days when I know she seriously wondered if she could manipulate the forensics enough to get away with strangling Slocum. And when you came back to active duty, she never once asked me to assign someone else to your cases. You think you know Jordan Cavanaugh? This happened four years ago, Woody?" Macy shook his head dismissively. "Four years ago, you'd be right. Four years ago, Jordan would have been out of here. That was how she stayed strong. Or how she thought she did. Anyone got close enough to hurt, she was gone. No one can hurt you if you're not there. So what does it tell you, that she's still here? Think about it!"

Woody stared at the coffee Garret had handed him. "She said it because she felt sorry for me."

Garret slammed down his own mug on his desk. "She said it because she loves you."

Woody's blue gaze came up, accusatory, pained. "Then why hasn't she said anything since then?" His voice rose in anger. "How am I supposed to believe her?"

Macy's eyes pinned Woody to the spot. "Because she's Jordan. Because she doesn't say things she doesn't mean."

Another bitter smirk from Hoyt. "You said yourself she's changed."

"That won't ever change, Woody. Jordan will never stop speaking her mind. She's just finally learned to talk about what's in her heart, too."

Those words froze the homicide detective. He knew every word Macy had said was true. He didn't want it to be true because that would mean he'd have blown it big time. He'd have let slip away everything he'd ever wanted. "Yeah? Doesn't change anything."

"Why not?" Now Garret was genuinely mystified.

"I screwed up."

Macy chuckled. "Another thing you might want to remember about Jordan." He paused. "She does give second chances." He smiled. "Almost as many as she gets sometimes."

Handing Macy the mug of untouched coffee, Woody stood up. "I'll think about it." He opened the door to Macy's office.

"Don't think about it, Woody. Stop thinking about it. And don't call her."

XXXXX

Jordan's hair was wrapped in a towel. She had on her oldest, most comfortable pajamas and a ratty robe Evelyn had given her during the brief time period the woman had tried to win over Mac's daughter. The robe was pink. Jordan's sat on the couch, staring at nothing, taking occasional sips from a glass of wine she'd poured after her bath. Beneath the terrycloth turban her hair was nearly dry. The wine was warm. She noticed none of that. In fact, at first, she didn't notice the knocking.

"Jordan? Jordan? I know you're there. I saw the lights!"

She started with a small sound, gazing around owlishly. "Huh?" She blinked and finally registered the renewed tapping at her door. Snatches of Poe tripped through her brain. Tapping, rapping...nevermore. She shook herself. "Yeah, yeah. Hold on a minute."

She padded to the door and peered through the security hole. Her brows knit down. She opened the door.  
"Woody?"

He made a pretense of looking around the hallway. "Yep. Seems to be me." His face grew serious. "Can I come in?"

"Oh...yeah. Sure." Jordan stood aside.

Woody looked at her. "Nice robe."

"It's pink." Which really struck Hoyt as a nonsequitur but he let it go.

"We got him. The boyfriend. Mike O'Neal."

Jordan came crashing into reality. "You did? Where? When? Where is he now?"

"Slow down, Jordan. I'll tell you everything." He glanced around. "Mind if I have a seat?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, sorry. No. Sit down. Want some wine? A beer?"

He noticed her half empty glass. "Whatever you're having."

Jordan picked up her own glass and carried it into the kitchen. She dumped out the warm wine and poured a new measure for herself. Into a clean glass went the last of the bottle for Woody. When she brought them back, she found him sitting on one end of the couch, his position a near mirror of the one he'd held in Garret's office. She spoke quietly. "Here."

He lifted his head. She saw the darkness in his eyes. It was there so much more often now. He probably thought she didn't notice, but, of course, she did. She noticed everything. Included the trembling of his hand as he took the proferred glass. "Thanks." He took a sip.

Jordan perched on the other end of the sofa. "So, what happened?"

Woody looked at her. "You remember when I said I wanted to nail him to the wall and you said you'd bring the nail gun?"

"Yeah." Jordan's voice was distant. "That was this morning."

"Was it? Feels like about ten years ago."

She gave him a taut smile. "Ten years ago I'd have found him myself, chosen the wall and gone from there all on my own."

Woody couldn't help the tired grin the picture he got in his head. "Today I might have let you."

"That bad?"

He looked at her, searching her eyes, finding her strength. "Just promise me you'll bring that nail gun to court. I want Walcott to put the son of a bitch away until the Sox win the Series again."

END Part Three

TBC...


	4. If the Sox Never Win Again

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.  
It's all for fun.

AN1: As usual, thanks for the feedback.

AN2: This story wasn't supposed to be nearly as dark as it is. Clearly it's time to let my "murderous" impulses out. (I write mysteries - don't worry, not actually going to kill anyone). Lastly, the resolution of the baby's death is based on an actual case - guess it bugged me more over the years than I realized.

**Part Four: If the Sox Never Win Again**

Jordan flinched a little at his words. As much patience as Woody had with children, small animals and - at least before - herself, he had no patience with people who hurt those members of the first three categories. "Maybe just the first two now," Jordan amended in her mind.

"Did he...," Jordan took a deep breath. "Confess?"

"He tried to deny it at first. But he broke down pretty quickly when I told him about the tape evidence."

Jordan nodded. "A fingerprint on the inside of the tape is pretty damning."

Woody shook his head. "Some hot shot defense attorney will probably still see a chance to make a name for himself - or herself - by defending this - this animal. Or trying to."

"What? He snapped? I mean, from what Nigel and I found, he put packing tape over her mouth."

"And then held her nose until she quit breathing. Yeah, he told me all about it."

Jordan shifted on the sofa. "Why did he put her in the dumpster though? I mean, if he hadn't done that, we might have believed it was SIDS."

"Because Mike O'Neal isn't quite as bright as he thinks he is." Woody took what amounted to a swig of wine. "I should have said he held her nose until he thought she quit breathing."

"He - What? Oh, my God!" Jordan's eyes smarted with fresh tears. Her shoulders slumped.

"That's not even the worst of it, Jordan."

"Come on, Woody. How much worse can it be?"

Woody's eyes found the floor. He told it about the next part of Mike O'Neal's confession. "He planned it,  
Jordan."

"Okay, I can-"

Woody looked up, those blue eyes alight with an anger so pure and righteous it stunned Jordan to see it in him. "No, he planned the whole thing. All of it, Jordan!"

"What do you mean, 'All of it?'"

Woody's lips thinned. "When he realized Karen was going to have that baby and when he realized everyone expected him to do the right thing, he planned this. He was furious with her for ruining his life, in his words. He had a baseball scholarship he had to give up. He would have to work crappy jobs, listen to a crying baby and a bunch of other complaints that hopefully a jury will hear because they won't endear him to twelve of his peers. So he decided to get even with Karen. I won't tell you the things he called her."

"Please don't," Jordan said softly.

"It was all her fault though. He didn't have anything to do with it. Well, he alternated between that and she trapped him. Doesn't matter. He decided he'd pretend, go along with it. Very noble of him," Woody scoffed and swigged more wine. "And he thought about it and thought about it and decided when he knew she loved that baby more than life itself, he'd take the baby away. Not kidnap her or anything. That might leave Karen with some hope. No, he was going to kill Evvy."

Jordan gasped. The tears that had pricked her eyes earlier now flowed down her face. "Oh, Woody. Oh..."

"He did a little reading up on crib death and figured it would be - to quote - 'wicked easy' to make it look like the brat just 'popped off.' He didn't count on screwing it up, which was when he panicked. But he figured he could still make out all right. He'd tell everyone he woke up in the night, went to check her, found her dead in her crib and panicked, thought he'd be blamed and so on." Woody gave Jordan a significant look. "He may have studied up a bit on crib death, but he didn't check into a certain morgue's track record of solving unusual deaths."

For a moment Jordan just stared at the wine still in her glass. Wordlessly she put it down. If alcohol was supposed to numb her, to make everything a little distant and hazy, she didn't need that tonight. She was already numb. This case was as surreal as it was cruel. Her eyes still filmed with tears, she met Woody's gaze. "What kind of human being would do that? To a baby?"

Woody shook his head. "He's not a human being, Jo. Believe me, he'll probably show up in court in a nice suit, with a good hair cut and that hot shot lawyer hoping to make a name, all saying 'Your Honor, my client wasn't responsible because blah blah blah.' But when he does, look closer. He'll look normal. Hell, what that lawyer -whoever he or she is - says may even seem to make some sense - because what sane person would do what he did? But I swear to you - I swear - there's no soul behind his eyes. There's nothing human about him. Except his DNA."

For long moments, they were silent. Jordan bit her lip. "I told you I wanted to know."

"And now you're not so sure."

She nodded. After another long silence, she said, "You could have called."

Woody swallowed. "I - uh - I thought about it."

"What changed your mind?"

He gave her a small shrug. "I went looking for you. At the morgue. Ran into Garret."

Jordan nodded, as if that was explanation enough.

But Woody had more for her. "He told me a few things. Set me straight, I guess you could say. I couldn't - That sort of - of ending to a case. I couldn't tell anyone that on the phone."

"I see." Jordan's voice was tight, her face a blank now. "So you would have done this no matter what?"

Woody breathed in and out, slowly. Slowly. Trying to control the pounding of his heart and bring his whirling thoughts into some kind of recognizable orbit.

"Woody?"

"No, Jordan. No." His gaze sought hers and when he caught her eyes, his arresting ones caught her. "There's something else."

END Part Four

TBC...


	5. Outside the World

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.  
It's all for fun.

**Part Five: Outside the World**

Jordan felt a momentary flutter of something uncomfortably like hope. She had a fleeting image of herself, trying to find her father, her brother, to find out what happened to Malden. She remembered the surprising tug at her heart, the way her stomach had turned cartwheels when Woody had said he had something to say to her. It had been the beginning of something that had taken her so long to accept - that he might love her and that, surprise, surprise, she wanted him to. Even more - that she wanted to love him. By the time her fear had finally worn itself out so had his patience. She admonished herself to be realistic. Whatever he would say had to do with the case, maybe something to do with Karen. But at least he wasn't likely to read her her rights this time.

Woody started to think about what to say. Then Garret's advice came to him and he let it flow. "I owe you an apology,  
Jordan."

Though she swallowed several times, her voice was still slightly hoarse. "For what? Telling me what a wonderful guy Mike O'Neal is?"

Woody shook his head. "For telling you - For what I said. In the hospital." He took a deep breath. "And for not apologizing a lot sooner." His lips quirked into a smile woven with sadness. "Like the second after I said it."

Jordan shrunk into herself. "Woody, you don't have to-"

"Yeah, Jordan. I do."

No, really, it's - it's okay." She shook her head. "You - After everything, I've ... put you through. I mean, why would you believe me? No, no, Woody. I get it."

"Jordan." His voice stopped the frantic movement of her tongue, tossing out meaningless babble to fill the space between them. He scooted toward her and plucked one of her hands from her lap. "Jordan, that's just it. After everything we've been through, I should have known - I - I - should have... known."

"Woody." She looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

He reached over with his free hand and tilted up her chin. She tried to shake her head, to free herself from the maelstrom, but he cupped her jaw. His voice was soft and silky, yet rough with sadness. And need. "Jordan, we lost a lot of time. There were things neither of us could see." He squeezed her hand. "Maybe we didn't want to see them."

She swallowed again, her throat tight.

"Like I said, Garret set me straight about a few things, made me realize I don't know as much as I thought I did." He released her chin and sat back. "But even before that... this case." His fingers tightened on hers again.

"Yeah. No kidding." She said nothing more, kept her hands still in her lap by force of will. The moments ticked away, dry time like chaff accumulating on a barn floor.

Woody gave her an appraising look and then jumped. They'd both stood on the ledge too long. He tugged her into the curve of his arm. She came willingly, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing softly when he began to stroke her long, dark hair. "I am sorry, Jordan," he murmured in her ear.

She craned her neck up, her face inscrutable. After what felt like hours to him, she ran a finger along his cheek bone. "Can we agree the past is just that - past?"

Woody's eyes widened. He grinned. "All right, where's the real Jordan Cavanaugh?"

She thumped his chest. "Can we, Woody?"

His eyes closed for a moment and then, he nodded. He held her for a moment, torn, afraid to let go of all she offered him, but still knowing her well enough to be certain that someday... He wetted his lips, tried to find spit to swallow in a mouth suddenly as arid as the Mojave the first time they'd kissed. "We'll have to talk about it sometime." His hand dropped from its gentle caress of her hair.

She lowered her head, studied his hand for a moment and then twined her fingers with his. She sighed. "I know. But not right now. Not tonight. We'll talk about - about everything - the past, us, how I make myself crazy with some of these cases-"

"And everyone around you," he teased.

She grinned and nodded once. "And everyone around me - especially you."

"You know something I've learned, Jordan."

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. "What?"

His lips touched the crown of her head. "I kind of like it when you make me crazy."

Jordan's smile sharpened into a wicked, mirthful grin. "You sure about that?"

Woody nodded, his mind slow to catch on to the implications in his words and her tone of voice. "Yeah,  
I'm su-"

She kissed him. With certainty. With heat. With desire. Her mouth was greedy against his as she pressed his head down toward hers. He wrapped his arms around her and lost himself in the passion so long kept at a low simmer. One hand found her hair again and his fingers twisted through it, his hand cradling her skull. The other arm pressed her closer to him until only their clothes gave proof to where he ended and she began.

Unwilling, but grasping at a fleeting rational thought, Woody broke the kiss. "Jordan, we should-"

She pressed her mouth to his ear, nibbling softly. "You're right, Woody. We should." Her lust-rough whisper jolted Woody to his core, threatening to sweep away everything but the fact she could finally be his.

He took her head in his hands, held her back, tried to keep his eyes off her lips, moist and plump from their kissing, but when he found her golden-brown eyes, so passionate, so certain, so open, he could barely get out what he needed to say. "No, Jordan, come on. This is - We shouldn't rush this."

She smiled at him. "Rush this? Woody, it's been four years. I don't want to know what you consider taking it slowly."

"Hey, I'm not the one who said we should just be friends!"

She quirked up an eyebrow at him.

"You said it first," Woody sulked. "Jordan, I just don't want to ruin this." He brushed her cheeks with his thumbs. "It means too much."

Smiling at him, her body tingling from her scalp to her toes at the lightest of his touches, she extricated herself from his arms and faced him, straddling him. Her eyes twinkled mercilessly at the groan he didn't quite manage to suppress. She leaned forward, her hair cascading in his face, wrapping him in its clean scent. Her heat enveloped him and it took everything in him not to tumble her back to the couch and have her. "You know what I learned, Woody?" Her voice was still filled with lust, but the timbre went deeper than that. The earnestness,  
the genuine emotion made Woody's pulse race even more than the proximity of her body.

Well, maybe not more. But it sure as hell was a tie. "What did you learn, Jordan?" he choked out.

"I learned it hurts more to stay locked up inside yourself." Her tone gained seriousness and melancholy. "That girl today - Karen - after everything she'd been through, you'd think she'd want to run away and hide from the world, never let anyone get close to her again." She sat back. Woody gazed up into her face. "But she doesn't, Woody. She needs time, of course, but she's not afraid of loving someone else, of having a life and more children and at least if her heart gets broken, it's because she has one." She kissed him again, slowly, gently, but still with as much heat and desire. "I don't want to ruin this either." She took a deep breath and smiled, slowly, until the light filled her eyes. "Maybe that's why it's taken so long. But I'm tired of living locked up inside myself, Woody. I'm tired of pretending it will hurt less if you're not in my life, than if you are - even if it doesn't work."

For a moment, Woody couldn't breathe. His heart pounded heavily. His eyes were dark and serious. "You're sure, Jordan?"

Her kiss was his answer.

Woody wrapped his arms around her, his lips parting hers gently but insistently. She granted him access to her mouth, her tongue sliding between his teeth as well. Without releasing her, Woody lifted her up, one hand cradling her head, her dark hair cascading over and through his fingers. The other arm supported her thighs.

Jordan pulled away. "Your back," she murmured.

"It's fine," Woody assured her before recapturing her lips to plunder her again.

She shook free. "Really?"

He stopped. "Jordan?" His tone was stern, but his eyes twinkled. "Shut up and quit arguing with me. Just this once."

She chuckled and blushed, then dipped her head in acknowledgement. As he began to walk toward her bed, she dropped light kisses on his jaw, working her way toward his ear. He groaned, shaking and trembling with need, wanting her to stop and wanting it to go on forever. "God, Jordan. Oh, God," he breathed.

"Woody." Her husky whisper sounded in his ear and echoed all the way down to his toes. The distance to her bed seemed like miles. It only increased when she began to tug at the buttons on his shirt. She slid her hand underneath the fabric and let her palm skim over his chest. She let the tips of her singers rest against his flesh where his heart pounded. Her own pulse quickened in response.

At last, he found her bed and together they tumbled to the mattress. She tugged his shirt off and began to unbuckle his belt. His hands stilled her. "Jordan, slow down."

She looked at him owlishly, her honey brown eyes wide, glazed with lust.

He dipped his head down and found her lips. Gently and thoroughly he kissed her. He tugged at the terry cloth belt holding her robe shut and worked his hand underneath the hem of her sleep t-shirt. She groaned loudly and arched against him, hissing his name.

Woody didn't think anything had ever sounded so sweet as that. He thought a few things might equal it - things in their future - but he knew the sound of his name on her lips, her voice soft and full of desire for him, would always make him hungry for this newfound sweetness. No matter how many years might elapse he was determined there always be something of this newness for them. As his hand moved upward he kissed her, just behind her ear, finding the silky skin there so responsive.

Her arms went around him, her fingers digging into his back, urging him closer.

"Jordan," he whispered, the sound felt more than heard in her body. "I want to take this slow, make it special."

Her head lolled back on a pillow. She gazed at him with those same eyes. He could see the flutter of her heartbeat in the pulse point on her neck. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Can we take it slow next time, Woody? Right now I want you more than I thought I could ever want any man."

"I want you...," rang in his ears. And... did she mean it? Had she really said there'd be a next time? "Really, Jo? Next time?"

She nodded.

"There's going to be a next time?" His eyes searched her face for any temptation to run. He saw only calm in her countenance, a contentment he'd never honestly expected to see.

She smiled, the corners of her mouth turning up languorously, devilishly. "Woody, there's going to be lots of next times."

XXXXX

She lay pressed against him, her head cradled on his chest, his fingers strolling their way through the strands of her hair. She smiled in satisfaction as her fingers traced abstract whorls on his stomach.

"Did you mean it?" Woody's voice was almost shy. He'd thought about not asking at all, but for too long they'd kept too many things bottled up.

"Hmm?"

He twirled a lock of hair around one finger. "That you wanted me more than you thought you could."

She looked up at him and slowly nodded.

He blushed faintly. "But, Jo, other guys must have... must have done... had moves."

She giggled and then grew serious. She took his free hand and placed it between her breasts. "Maybe. I guess. But, Woody, none of them had any 'moves' here." At his slightly perplexed look, she added, "In my heart. I didn't let anyone in. Everyone at the morgue, maybe, a little. But not all the way inside, not where it seemed safer to keep everyone away so I wouldn't get hurt."

"What are you saying, Jordan?"

She smiled again. "Insecure, Farm Boy?"

He shrugged. "Humor me."

She shifted so that her face was level with his. "I'm saying I meant it, Woody. I meant you'll have to find some other way to get me out of your life than dying. I meant I could say what you wanted to hear." She wove their fingers together. "I love you. I tried to stop, but it didn't work. Come Hell or high water, Woodrow Wilson Hoyt, you've got me."

It was his turn to smile. "Bite your tongue, Cavanaugh, We've already gone through Hell, I think. A flood, Boston does not need!"

She was still laughing when he kissed her.

And that time he took everything slowly.

END Part Five

Almost done...


	6. Epilogue: Close the Circle

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.  
It's all for fun.

**Epilogue: Close the Circle**

_Spring 2009_

Jordan hurried through the back door of the small Cape Cod she and Woody had finally bought a few months ago. Her nose told her he'd made dinner. Her stomach reminded her she was hungry. "Sorry, I'm late!" she called out. "I had to wait at - uh - D'you have a good day?"

"You don't have to shout, Jo."

She jumped and turned around.

Woody stood in the doorway to the dining nook. He came to her and put his arms around her, mindless of the packages she held. He kissed her softly then laid his mouth against the cup of her ear. That still made her shiver. Three years later and he was still finding ways to thrill her body. And soul. "You know, it's just marinara. I haven't started the pasta. It could wait."

With resignation, she pulled away. "No. I have some things I want to show you after dinner."

"And?" His eyes twinkled.

"I'm impatient, remember?"

He rolled his eyes in surrender. "As if I could ever forget." He kissed the crown of her head. "All right. I'll start the pasta."

"Salad?" She asked.

"Yep."

"I'll get it ready as soon as I change." She hurried up the stairs and changed into her sleep t-shirt, sleep shorts and old, pink robe. From her shopping bags, she pulled out a medium sized gift bag. The other items she removed and placed on the old oak dresser they'd found and restored together, despite Woody's initial misgivings that she would somehow, someway find some crime connected with the furniture and feel compelled to solve it.

Woody's eyebrows arched when he saw her. "That's definitely more comfortable."

She gave him a shrug replete with a nonchalance she didn't feel at all and then dashed through to leave the gift bag next to her chair. She found, when she came back into the kitchen, he had made the salad too. She thanked him and kissed him. A lot. The pasta was not quite as al dente as either of them would have liked, but it was worth it.

They ate and chatted about the generalities of their day. Early on, Woody had banned the specifics. "I've got to eat, Jo," he'd told her.

Out of the blue, Jordan put her fork down. "Guess who called me today?"

Woody made several joking guesses.

After each, Jordan shook her head. Her demeanor was serious. "Karen Devaney. You remember?"

Woody nodded. "Never forget. How is she?"

Jordan nodded. "She's good. Working her way through UMass - business major. She works for an accountant downtown. He says he'll hire her when she's done."

"That's good. Great."

"She's dating. He's a little older, has a little boy. His ex moved somewhere in the middle of Africa so he's got full custody. Karen sounds really taken with both of them."

"She's a pretty strong girl."

Jordan smiled. "She was mad we didn't invite her to the wedding."

Woody laughed. "Did you tell her we invited the guy who did the ceremony and two people who happened to be walking by on the beach?"

Jordan's grin lit up her eyes. Nearly a year later they were still getting flak from their friends and co-workers about how their romantic Caribbean getaway had turned into a wedding.

"So is that why you went shopping?"

"Kind of," she told him. "I got you something."

Woody's eyes narrowed. "It's not my birthday. It's not quite our anniversary. God, Jo, did you get fired?" His eyes glittered with humor.

"How do you know I didn't get a promotion?" she demanded, her eyes laughing.

"So what'd'ya get me?" He rubbed his hands together, a gleeful little kid.

Hesitantly, she handed him the bag that had burned her feet all though dinner. He took it, his brow creased at her mysteriousness. He pulled the two items out and, pushing aside his plate, laid them before him. He bit his tongue for a moment, trying to understand. He glanced over at her. Her gaze was a mixture of nervous anticipation and excitement. He looked down again and memory flooded over him. He looked back at her, his jaw slack.

She spoke haltingly. "I don't know - I mean, not yet - and maybe you don't want to know - so, I got both."

Woody nodded. He stood up and reached out his hands to her. "The dishes!" she exclaimed.

"We'll do them tomorrow," he told her, his voice thick.

They talked long into the night, making plans, hoping hopes that Jordan, at least, had taken so long to begin to hope. On their dinner table, still and forgotten for the moment, but treasured nonetheless, lay two footie suits.

One blue.

One pink.

END


End file.
